The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1887-02-04

&c with a pallor and ma esty which
seemed the attributes of death itself
Had it not been for that heavy respira,
ton, should have almost believed
that the weary young spirit of the boy
ish soldier had already answered to 3
Higher Summons. Presently, as J
watched him, saw a sweet, tender
smile steal over his face, like a soft
summer breeze ripping the still sur
face of 8 lake, and then the blue eyes
Enclosed quietly, gently and met mine,
with no feverish light in them, but
with a peaceful glow, which yet con-
tanned a CLEAN of longing. l saw th"'
he was quite conscious. -
go - - --.yclnpe 30 check him, be.
ing ~ :. well acquainted with death no
! 70 discern his familiar presence.
~ am Wodndeds' / bowed an as
sent i remember. The flag was fall
! ing from the broken wrist of the bear.
er, and 1 ran forward to. save 81, Use.
! less, You seer and the fiickering smile
deepehea with a realizing sense of his
| pOwerlessness. I'm sorry 1 haven't
done much good, after all, and the
poor little mother! Abr And a fresh
tWinge causes him to pause a moment,
while I administered a draught. !
tried to prevail upon him to cease talk
ing, but, with a bit of boyish fun he
says:
:" No, I'd rather my tongue would
wear out than rust out. Iknow what's
coming, and he paused again while the
smile quite faded, and look of dread
and uncertainty filed his eyes. He
seemed afraid that I should divine the
natural, unsoldier1ike shrinking of his
young soul BEFORE the coming of the
invincible foe, against whose attack
none shall prevail, and quickly cOntin-
ued: I'm not really afraid, you know
at least, I think Tn not; only, If
mother could be waiting there for mei'
Then the homesick yearning of the
sOrely tried heart quite eonquers, and
his eyes fill again with hot tears, which
he hides with his right arm; and 1 see
his lips culver, and hear the trembling
voice cry, with the pathetic lament Of
a hurt child, ooh, mother, mother!'
1.-The struggle that is taking place in
that heroic soul only can divine. He
says no more until he is quite calm;
then he removes his arm, and in per
ceptibly weakened tones asks:
Doctor, will you sometime go and
see herP Tell her was sorry to have
to run away did, you know--but she
would not let me go, and I was man
and 80 strOngl He stops again; his
little remnant of the strength of which
he speaks is fast diminishing, and the
boyish frame with its manly impulses
is growing as weak as a baby's. 1
| promise him; he gives me his name and
the name of his native town, and then
l absolutely forbid another word. He
falls into a deep sleep, and the
tears fill my eyes and roll down my
bearded cheeks as 1 realize the real mo-
tive which has prompted this surrender
of life. l feel sure that no boyist
waywardness and love of excitement
has actuated him, else the hOmesicB
WEAKNESS would have proved too strong
l can see that the spirit of patriotism
has been as pure and deep in this child.
ish breast as in the souls of our bravest,
nOblest soldiers. | bethink me of the
time, and, drawing out my repeater,
set it, and as the silyery chimes smite
the stiffness Of the chamber, the boy
once more starts up in bed with ar
eager flush on his fair face.
cit is the rOll-call,' he mutters
Mother, | must go. Kiss me, kiss me
just once, mother. Ahr as wild flush
of triumph fits over his features, She
has kissed me here and his hand
presses convulsiyely the wounded
heart i see you, mother. L see you.
Wait. l am coming. One moment
for the roll-call,' then, straining his
eyes out through the open window, he
listens as if intent on catching some
word. Gradually the eagerness gives
way to a look of fulfilled expectation
and he mutters as if in repetition
Jones, James, McHenry,' and then,
pulling himself together as with 9
mighty effort, a pleased, satisfied smile
steals over his face, and repeating his
own name, as the next in order of sue
cession, the boy-soldierraises his voice,
and in a clear, ringing tone answers to
the rOll-call of one mightier than any
officer of worldly warfare: 'Ay, pres
ent.' And with long, quivering
breath the brave soul passes up and
enters the ranks to which he has been
called.
always lose myself when tell this
sad little tale, and imagine am once
more sitting in the poor hospital cham
Der, watching beside my young hero.
As finish, no one speaks, but present
| 1y my little Mariory wipes her soft
brown eyes and says;
"Tell, papa, how you went to search
for the poor mother. 50
That, too? But, my dear, it hardly
seems necessary However, it is one
of Marjory's requests, and never re-
fuse her; so / relate the details of my
journey to the South, after the conclu-
sion of the war, of my wandering
through the desOlated, barren land, I'M
I'll ] reached the town to which the
young soldier had directed me; of my
search for that grief-stricksn mother;
and repeat the little history told me by o
neighbor of the lady:
"She was young widOwwith an only
child, this son. Proud of her Southern
birth and ancestry, she had, from the
boys infancy, instilled into his soul q
love and loyalty for his native soil, little
dreaming of the bitter fruit she should
reap from the seed she scattered so pro-
fusely When the war broke out the
boy was fired with all the enthusiasm
of his warm, Southern blood, and the
germs of patriotism she had sown grew
up and tiourished When she found
him bent upon entering the service she
resOlutely refused To listen to the ides
of the practical fuIfiment of her the
Dries, and forbade his mentioning the